Ramadan 2002

This was technically Zainab’s third Ramadan but her first in earnest. Mohamed and Zainab wed on the first day of Ramadan 2000. Her first as a Muslim was more learning than practicing. She wanted to do even better this year.

When she got ready for work, she put on her usual business attire and then paused. Was today going to be a hijabi day? The thought of buying dates without hijab seemed wrong. This was America with people in all manner of attire but she liked being respectful, especially on holidays.

She was always the neatest dressed child every Easter. She did it out of respect for God. A single bow slightly out of place wasn’t good enough for God. Her sisters were far rougher and rarely looked neat and polished for long. The ribboned and bowed dresses and gloves were lost on them.

This time she chose just any old clean hijab before rushing off. The Arabic store was near her office. She pulled up and made sure that not one stray hair was showing. She practiced her words a few times to be sure. She didn’t want to make any mistakes on such an important day.

The two gentlemen struggled to smile as they greeted her, “Hi.”

“Salam alaykum. Ramadan Kareem.”

“Happy Ramadan,” was said with a fake bit of enthusiasm for the first day of starvation for a whole month. It only goes downhill from there.

“I need a box of dates for iftar, please.”

“Which one?

“This one. Shukran.”

Zainab selected the smaller box of dates. She could eat maybe 10 the entire month. It was mainly for Mohamed and any guests. She paid the gentleman and said, “Ma’salam,” while leaving. Her chipper attitude had rubbed off on them momentarily and saw them smiling for the holiest month and most torturous.

When she came into the office, Ibrahim greeted her with a smile. “Happy Ramadan, Zainab.”

“Thank you, Ibrahim. I got my dates for iftar tonight. Inshallah it’ll be a blessed and peaceful month.”

“I’m sure that it will, darling. You are more confident and radiant than ever.”

“Oh, Ibe. Thanks.”

The rest of her day was filled with people wishing her a happy Ramadan and asking about it. Everyone who had ever fasted groaned at the idea. She tried to make it easier sounding than it is but you can’t fool anyone by the end of the month. Shaytan are the least of your problems, Hamdulillah. You turn into a massively grumpy Gus. You become the shaytan you seek to keep away.

Zainab decided to take a more scenic route home to savor the peaceful, joyous day. She had her window down as she stopped at a street light in a quaint town square, smiling at the world. Just before the light changed, she heard a shout that had her looking for someone to protect.

“Go back to your own country!”

When she saw nothing wrong, she drove on wondering if she was mistaken. As she turned the corner, she looked down and realized that it was her who needed protection.

It wasn’t the first time nor the last. She could expect or prepare for it sometimes but it could blindside her too. The most heartbreaking and rewarding was a week later with her mom.

Zainab and her mom were thick as thieves. They both understood the consequences of her actions. She was no longer and could never be seen as just another White woman. The discrimination they witnessed being leveled at African Americans their entire lives was now Zainab’s experience.

“I want to make sure that you’re prepared for whatever happens. Canton is a wonderful, liberal city but people can surprise you. You know what happens. It’s just like the African Americans. Okay?”

“Oh, it’ll be fine.”

“Inshallah.”

When they pulled into the packed parking lot, they took a few deep, cleansing breaths before Zainab gave her the game plan. “I am going to go first so that you can see and feel comfortable before you are known to be with me. If you’re scared, stay away. I just want you to be safe, okay?”

Zainab’s mom gave a weak okay before watching her precious baby exit the car into a firestorm. She held her head high with a massive smile and hello for everyone as she made her way to the Kroger’s front door.

Mothers grabbed their children and put them behind them. People glared as if they had laser vision that would destroy her on sight. Some chose to follow her instead of risk being in front of a suicide bomber.

Zainab never changed her disposition though. She still smiled as they wished her harm. She waved to children and said hello regardless.

“Tina,” Zainab’s mother quietly shouted as she saw the hate that surrounded her.

“It’s okay, mom. You’ll see.”

Zainab watched her mother’s expression change as they got closer to the door. She was so scared but saw how brave her little girl had become. It gave her the confidence to go into battle with her.

Inside the store, Zainab tried to get her mom to act normally as they gathered their groceries. She continued smiling and saying hello to those around them as she had done her entire life. Then her mom watched the magic.

“Hello. I’m sorry. I just wanted to say that I love your wrap. It’s so beautiful.”

“Oh, my. Thank you. It’s one of my favorites too. It’s such gorgeous fabric.”

“It is stunning and it looks great on you.”

“Thank you. You aren’t so bad yourself.”

“Thank you. Have a great day.”

“You too.”

It was then that Zainab saw the magic on her mom’s face. She had always loved all but was terrified of what it was like for African Americans, especially during the Civil Rights movement. She was terrified for Zainab but saw that there were so many people like her who judged one by the content of their character and not the color of their skin or anything else. They stood guard over her baby when she couldn’t. They protected her and showed others that it was okay. We are all just humans after all. We are the same. We are family.

Ramadan Kareem, Zainab. Ramadan Kareem.

Until next time. Ma’salam.

Min sadiqatuk, Drsy.

From your friend, Darcy